


Maid to Order

by HisAngelThursday



Series: Gangster Idiots in Love: Stand Alone Fics [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Bottom Tommy Shelby, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Dom/sub, Facials, Feminization, French Maid Costume, Humiliation, Idiot (kinky) gangster husbands in love, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking, Tommy and Alfie are married (for context), Tommy is a complete sub yet in denial about it, Top Alfie Solomons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAngelThursday/pseuds/HisAngelThursday
Summary: In which Tommy loses a bet with his husband and has to act as his maid for the evening.  Unabashed, utterly filthy kink with some fluff to come.This is a modern AU, in which Tommy and Alfie are happy, healthy, and married, because it's what they DESERVE, damn it.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Gangster Idiots in Love: Stand Alone Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756603
Comments: 38
Kudos: 247





	1. Chapter 1

“You can’t fucking be serious.” 

“I think you know, sweetie, that I most assuredly am.” Alfie can hear, actually hear, the smugness in his own voice, and if he wasn’t enjoying this whole situation so much, he might actually want to punch himself for it. 

He can’t imagine the effect it must be having on Tommy, who has just gotten out of his scalding hot bath (Alfie would love to join him for that, if the boy wasn’t so hell-bent on boiling himself.) He’s standing before him, flushed pink from the heat and now from the embarrassment of what Alfie is about to make him do.

He’s still haughty though, his chin held high, his brows pursed indignantly, like he can’t believe Alfie would suggest such a thing. He looks from the box in Alfie’s hands to Alfie’s (presumably very smug, punchable) face. “You seriously can’t be fucking serious.” 

Alfie gives a theatrical sigh, and takes a seat on the bed. He pats the space next to him, being purposefully as condescending as possible, because sue him if he likes how cute Tommy is when he gets pissy.

Tommy, who never fails to disappoint, folds his arms and actually pouts. It helps that he’s wearing Alfie’s dressing gown, which on him is so big it makes him look like an elf.

“You won’t like it if I have to come over there and get you, love,” Alfie warns, dropping his voice in that specific way that will make Tommy do whatever he says, regardless of how angry or haughty he pretends to be.

Sure enough, Tommy huffs, and struts rigidly over, keeping his arms folded and his gaze stubbornly away from Alfie. He takes a seat next to him on the bed, close enough that Alfie can feel the heat radiating off of him from the bath, smell the lavender oil Alfie got for him (which, Alfie can distinctly recall, he pretended not to want.)

“Now, poppet. You made a deal. We made a bet, a fair bet, yeah, and you lost it.” Alfie knows he has to be straightforward with Tommy when he’s like this. “And I know that deals are sacred to your lot, right, a matter of honor. So you don’t have to like it.” Even though Alfie knows full well Tommy will like it, and likes the prospect of it, otherwise he never would have made that bet to begin with. “You just have to follow through, otherwise, right, you’re an honorless slag. Do you want to be an honorless slag, Tommy?” 

The thing is, Tommy has a safeword. If he didn’t feel comfortable with this, if he genuinely wanted to stop, he would have used it already. 

He wants this as much as Alfie does – maybe even more. He just needs to feel like it isn’t his idea. 

Tommy sighs. “Let’s get this evening over with.” He reaches for the box, but Alfie pulls it away. He’s not getting off that easy.

“Uh-uh, treacle. You’re not wearing your uniform, so now, right, it seems like its up to me that it’s put on properly.”

“You’ve gotta be –” Tommy starts to protest, but Alfie shushes him.

“Oi! As of right now, you are on duty for the evening. It’s awfully unprofessional, innit, to be talking back to your sir?”

Tommy’s ears have gone all red, but Alfie would bet anything that his dick is already chubbing up at the authoritative tone. He knows just how to use his voice to get Tommy going, in every sense of the word. 

“Now.” Alfie opens the box, revealing the delicate, beautifully embroidered, ridiculously revealing French maid costume inside. “Let’s get you into uniform.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The filthiest thing I have ever written, and I have no shame. Thank you all for the lovely comments!

It started, of all things, when they went to the races. As a former bookmaker, Tommy probably should have foreseen that this was a bad move. Not only was it impossible not to get overly invested in the proceedings, he was annoyed by Alfie’s inability to take it seriously.

“Did you seriously sneak snacks into a horse race?” he hissed, eyeing the crisps Alfie was casually removing from his hat.

“Look, mate, just because you’re a tiny thing who lives off of spite and dewdrops doesn’t mean I am.” The crisps bag crinkled loudly as Alfie opened it, prompting irritated looks from the surrounding racegoers. “Some of us, right, have to eat.” 

And he ate loudly, offering unsolicited commentary on the horses (“That one’s got a spot that’s shaped like a hamburger. I’d name him Mr. Hamburger.”) And the thing is, Tommy does enjoy Alfie’s nonsense, though he tries to avoid admitting it whenever possible. Alfie is the only person who can make Tommy crack a smile, even when he doesn’t want to.

But as soon as he stepped foot back on the tracks he receded into bookmaker mode, back before he became 80% legitimate and entered business and politics, when this was what he needed to do in order to feed his family.

Also, racing involves horses, and anything involving horses, Tommy takes seriously.  
That’s why Alfie chewing in his ear and spouting nonsense was bothering him more than it usually would, and why he finally snapped when Alfie pointed a decisive finger at a mare and says, “That one’s going to win.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Tommy, trying to contain his annoyance at Alfie’s certainty. 

Alfie shrugged. “Just do.”

“Alright, look – first of all, there are crumbs in your beard. Second of all, I used to do this for a living, and there’s an actual science to it.”

“They’re horses, mate. I’m pretty sure they don’t care about science.”

Alfie showed no inclination of brushing the crisps out of his beard, so Tommy reached up and did it for him, frustrated. “All I’m saying is, it’s not random,” he said, as patiently as possible. “And I would bet you anything, anything at all, that your mare isn’t going to win this race.”

Even in the moment, he was vaguely concerned with how Alfie’s eyes darkened, going from insufferable amusement to predatory interest in a disconcerting amount of time. Tommy realized his hands were still on Alfie’s face, and though he had no impulse to retract them – just the opposite, actually – Alfie grasped him by the wrists, holding him there. 

“Anything, sweety?”

* * *

“You should never have made that bet, love. Haven’t I told you that I can see the future?”

Alfie asks this, fully knowing that Tommy probably couldn’t answer if he wanted to. Alfie has made him lie down on the bed, so he’ll feel as powerless as possible as Alfie works the stockings up his legs, securing them carefully with garters.

It would be sadistic – hell, it is sadistic – but he knows Tommy gets off on this as much as he does. He’s trying and failing to conceal the erection tenting the panties Alfie made him put on, simple black lace and elegant.

Alfie would tell him to stop, if he wasn’t so enjoying watching his frantic little hand motions, his delicious thighs pressed flush together.

“Alright, sweetie. Stand up for us.”

Tommy’s face is a lovely shade of livid pink, which really makes his eyes and freckles pop. Alfie almost wants to stop what he’s doing and kiss them, but he knows he’s already pushing Tommy to the limits of what he’ll do to keep his honor, and he doesn’t want to push his luck.

When Tommy hesitates, glaring pretty blue daggers, Alfie clucks his tongue dramatically. “Remember our arrangement, Tommy. It wasn’t just that you’d dress the part, was it?” 

He can see in Tommy’s furious face that he already knows the answer. It wasn’t just that he would dress as Alfie’s maid, but that he would act as one – this meant, doing everything Alfie asked of him, for one evening. Total obedience.

Tommy stands up, cupped hands covering his erection. He’s blushing in splotchy pink patches from his neck down to his pectorals, from mortification, from arousal, from mortification at his arousal, from arousal at his mortification. 

Alfie rises with him, encroaching just enough that Tommy can feel their size difference, made all the more apparent by the fact that Alfie is dressed and Tommy is not. He reaches round, pulling Tommy flush against him as if in a bare hug, then reaches down to squeeze that delicious arse. 

“You should really wear these things more often, sweety,” he remarks, snapping the back of Tommy’s underwear for effect. “They suit you.”

Tommy can only glower at him in impotent fury, but there’s nothing impotent about the rest of him. Alfie can feel the way his cock pulsates, pressed flush against him, even through his trousers. 

“Alright, petal. You know what comes next.” Alfie pulls away with a final pat to Tommy’s arse. Picks the maid uniform up off of the bed. “Arms out.” 

On goes the uniform, and it fits perfectly. Alfie had it tailored especially for Tommy’s exact measurements. The skirt, however, is of a frankly unprofessional length, short enough that it would cause multiple traffic accidents if worn in public. 

Alfie sits down to admire his handiwork. “Give a turn for us.”

He relishes the way Tommy’s eyes flutter shut, though he keeps his chin stubbornly high. It takes him a minute, but he obeys. 

When Tommy’s back is facing him, it’s all Alfie can do not to palm himself through his trousers – he is an employer, after all, and an employer has to retain some semblance of propriety and control. The skirt is so short, he can see the curve of Tommy’s lovely cheeks. He wants to lean forward and bite them. 

All in good time. 

“You should dress like this more often, poppet,” he remarks, as Tommy turns to face him once more. “You really have the perfect figure for it.” And he does. Despite his lean muscle, Tommy has an oddly feminine figure, with a tiny waist and a lovely flair to his hips. It turns Alfie on like little else. 

“Fuck you.” Tommy, whose strategy has somewhat transparently been to avoid provoking Alfie and get this over with as painlessly as possible, seems to have finally been pushed past his limit.

“Oh, I intend to, my love.” 

Alfie reaches out, brushing his fingers under Tommy’s skirt, feeling the strain of his hard cock beneath them. He keeps his touch feather light, almost tickling, and smiles as Tommy’s hips involuntarily stutter. 

“I could fuck you right here,” he remarks, tracing the shape of the head through the thin, stretched material, “pull you into my lap and sit you on my cock and make you ride me, right now, like the little slut you are.” 

Tommy’s fists clench. His adam’s apple bobs, and there’s no hiding how much the prospect is appealing to him. 

“I could. But first –” Alfie pulls his hands away, and delights at how Tommy’s eyes fly open – “I fancy a cup of tea. And maybe a foot massage while I drink it.”

Tommy stares at him, more outraged than Alfie’s ever seen him. He could kiss him.

Instead, he spins him around roughly, and sends him off towards the kitchen with a little slap on the arse. “Off you go, treacle. And remember: I take my tea with honey.” He thinks for a minute, then adds, “Oh, and love? You give me attitude again, and I’ll give you a good spanking before I fuck you.” 

That has Tommy hurrying away, even as he casts him a furious, blue-eyed stare over his shoulder.

Alfie smiles. Silly boy. He’s already forgotten that Alfie can tell the future, and his powers of foresight tell him Tommy will be getting a spanking either way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I extended my original chapter count from three to five! So there will be more to come. Thank you to everyone for the kudos and comments thus far!

Tommy has had the impulse to kill his husband on many occasions. Not for the usual reasons married couples have the impulse to kill one another. But then, very little – if anything – is “usual” about his Alfie.

Every time he brought Alfie along to some stuffy-but-necessary business gathering to mingle with rich socialites. Each time, Alfie seemed utterly incapable of acting normal, either staring vacantly off into space and eating cheese cubes or bombarding random guests with facts about dogs or whales.

When Alfie promised he’d behave himself around Arthur, who hadn’t approved of their relationship at the time, on the grounds that Alfie was “utterly insane and dangerous,” and spent the entire gathering acting as insane and dangerous as possible. Tommy had finally snapped when Alfie tried to shoot a bee that flew into the room instead of shooing it outside like a normal person.

Every time Alfie assumed, rightly or wrongly, that someone besides him was flirting with Tommy, and would spend the rest of the interaction making thinly-veiled threats and double-entendres, and probably not-so-subtly groping Tommy wherever he could reach him. Tommy knows it turns Alfie on to make him flustered, to crack through his famously frosty veneer, so these interactions are usually followed by sessions of rough, possessive sex.

On that note, there have been many occasions in the bedroom when Tommy’s wanted to kill Alfie. Like the time he’d decided Tommy had been “mouthing off” too much and used a ring gag to keep his mouth open while he fucked it, talking endlessly about the importance of humility. “This is a far better use for your pretty mouth, and your pretty face. Don’t you think?” Tommy, his ability to speak taken away, could only glare up at him. Alfie patted his cheek. “Glad you agree, darling.” And every time he thought Tommy was being too reckless with himself, he’d tie him down and spend hours rimming or fingering him, until he was squirming and begging to be fucked (though he’d always deny that later.) And the spankings, often with the implements of spoons, paddles, and belts – Tommy would prefer not to think of those right now. Just as he’d prefer not to think of how hard he came whenever he received them.

He wanted to kill Alfie on all those occasions, but he particularly wants to kill him now. As he scrubs Alfie’s floor with a toothbrush, on all fours. He can feel the bastard’s eyes on him, on the back of his thighs, on his arse, barely covered by this humiliating outfit. Fucker is only pretending to read a book. Every few seconds, he slurps his tea – the tea Tommy made him – purposefully loudly (Tommy just knows it’s purposeful) and the noise ignites every nerve with annoyance.

“Missed a spot, love.” 

Fuck him. Fuck him and the fucking horse he rode in on. Missed a spot? He’s cleaning the floor with a fucking toothbrush, and he knows full well that Tommy’s not going to be able to get this done before Alfie loses his patience and fucks him. He’s just doing this to humiliate him, and it’s working. 

The Gypsy King of Birmingham, cleaning Alfie’s floor. How the mighty have fallen. 

A greater mystery still is why this demeaning activity is making his cock throb. It’s been so hard throughout this whole activity, it feels like he could blow his load at the slightest touch. He’s ashamed of this, and this shame seems to turn him on even more. Sometimes, he hates his body for the situations it puts him in, for the way it reacts to his mortification. 

“You look tense, sweetheart.” Alfie’s using that low voice he gets when he’s very aroused, and Tommy’s cock jumps in Pavlovian response. He wants badly to touch himself, but he knows that would only get him a session over Alfie’s knee. 

He hears the floorboards creak as the big man gets up – the house sometimes seems to move in deference to Alfie’s broad musculature. Tommy looks over his shoulder, equal parts hopeful and terrified at what Alfie might put him through now. 

“Eyes on your work. No reason to stop.”

Tommy dutifully goes back to his demeaning labor – a bargain is a bargain, after all, and Tommy’s nothing if not true to his word – but goes tense all over as he feels Alfie’s huge, roughened hands move under his skirt, feeling him up. Gently at first, then rough, squeezing possessive handfuls of flesh.

“Alfie –”

“That’s ‘Master Alfie’ to you, sweet thing. Not that there’s any reason for you to be talking, now, is there? And keep up your work, you’re slacking.” 

Tommy feels fury blossom inside of him, and takes it out on the floor. Alfie’s the only one he’d ever allow to treat him this way – well, unless it was part of a plan. Tommy’s always been fine with being submissive, so long as it’s getting him towards a greater end. Now, there is no greater end, except the inexplicable satisfaction of submitting to Alfie.

It’s that satisfaction that makes him keep scrubbing, eyes fixed on the toothbrush in his hand, as Alfie carefully rolls the soft underwear past his cheeks. He leaves it like that a minute, and Tommy can just picture the bastard admiring the view. He’s probably also waiting because he knows it makes Tommy self-conscious, and there’s nothing he likes more than watching him squirm.

“Your ears ‘ave gone all red,” Alfie remarks, confirming that suspicion. The delight in his voice is audible. “And your neck now, too.”

Tommy drops his head forward, biting back the names he wants to call him right now.

“So much stress,” Alfie tuts. “What you need, my dear, is something to take your mind off your work.” 

Before Tommy can question what this means – and it hindsight, it will appear obvious – he feels Alfie unceremoniously lick a long, wet stripe over the crack of his arse. Every muscle in Tommy’s body constricts. “Alfie,” he cries out, before he can stop himself.

This earns him a slap to his cheek. “There’ll be more of that if you don’t bite your tongue, love. Now, I said no talking. I’m busy.” Another lick, deeper this time, and lingering, like Alfie’s savoring it. “Oh, and keep working,” he adds, when he finally comes up for air.

Tommy’s face feels unbearably hot as he keeps scrubbing. He’s set ablaze by mortification and arousal that seem to feed off of one another – the reason he both loves and hates being rimmed, and why Alfie probably enjoys it so much.

His beard tickles, intimately, his tongue working its way in tight circles around Tommy’s arsehole, big hands roughly spreading his cheeks. Tommy’s arms are shaking, barely able to support him. He hopes it will be done soon, especially since Alfie hasn’t given him permission to come yet, but Alfie seems to be in a feral mood and he’s nothing if not single-minded.

After minutes of this, Tommy’s head is swimming, and his cock is so hard it keeps twitching, straining against the confines of the women’s underwear Alfie forced him into. He feels a wave of dread as one of Alfie’s hands reaches between his legs to gently roll his balls – if he touches his cock, he’s not sure he can keep himself from coming. 

“Alfie,” he tries, his legs closing on reflex. 

Alfie slaps his cheek again, this time multiple times, in quick succession. “You’ll take what I give you,” he growls, not helping Tommy away from the edge of his impending orgasm. “And if you come before I say, there’s gonna be serious consequences. Can’t have insubordination in me own fucking house.” 

Tommy would point out that he actually paid for this house, not Alfie, but that, he supposes, would also be insubordination.

His dread swells inside him as Alfie goes back to rimming him, his hand working closer to his throbbing cock.

All he can wonder is what he did to deserve this.

* * *

All Alfie can wonder is what he could have possibly done to deserve this. Before he met Tommy, he wasn’t a particularly good man – and as nights like these prove, there’s wickedness in him yet.

So what did he do to earn the beautiful sight before him? Tommy Shelby, humble and subservient, his lovely, pert arse jutting from beneath his maid uniform like an invitation, muscles tense with suppressed defiance. What a beautiful fucking creature.

Of course, Alfie knows he’s setting him up to fail as he grips Tommy’s cock, and is pleased – if unsurprised – to find it marble-hard. 

Tommy loves this. It’s one of those things Alfie knows he loves but will never admit to loving, like being held and kissed at night, or being told he’s beautiful. And Alfie wagers that, like those things, this is something he needs: being forced to submit, being set up to fail, being punished for that failure, and being loved regardless. These things ground him.

And, well. It’s not like Alfie’s being totally altruistic. 

He smiles to himself as Tommy cries out, pushing futilely at Alfie’s hand. His cock pulsates in Alfie’s grip, coating his hand – and the floor – with his white-hot release. Alfie strokes and licks him through it, suppressing a moan of arousal at Tommy’s high-pitched, desperate sounds, pleasure mixed with despair. 

It’s what’s going to make his punishment so much fun.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pure smut. Fluff and aftercare in the next one!
> 
> A big THANK YOU to everyone who takes the time to comment! Y'all make me want to write more!

It’s ironic, right, when you really think about it, that Alfie loves doing this to Tommy. He fell in love with Tommy, at least partially, for his ability to turn the world with nothing but sheer will, for his ability to hold his head high like an aristocrat despite being born into society’s lowest station. For his default expression of total superiority.

It’s in spite of this – or maybe, probably, because of this – that Alfie’s greatest pleasure is breaking this veneer. Making Tommy quiver and flush and beg, beg till it’s barely comprehensible sometimes, making him lose his famous eloquence, his composure. The harder he falls, the harder Alfie gets.

Which is why, right here, right now, watching Tommy shudder through the aftershock of an involuntary orgasm in a maid uniform, Alfie is as hard as a goddamn marble. 

He takes a deep, steadying breath. Staying composed, right, staying the one who’s totally in power, that just makes it all the more fun.

“Now, now, sweetie,” he says, tone carefully schooled into disapproval. “That wasn’t very good behavior, was it?”

Tommy’s ears and neck are crimson, and his head is hanging low. He’s embarrassed, and angry, and it makes Alfie’s prick twitch like a cocked gun. 

He still has Tommy’s shrinking cock in his hand, his knuckles coated with still-hot release, and he tightens it threateningly. “Answer me, sweet thing.”

“No.”

“That’s  _ no sir _ to you.” Alfie smacks Tommy’s arse, hard and open-handed, making his entire body twitch. “Now, I want to hear you say it.”

Tommy swallows audibly. “No, _ sir. _ ” He grits out the word, but despair is deliciously audible right alongside it.

“That’s a good little boy.” He pats Tommy condescendingly on the bottom, and can practically see his hackles rise. “But, I can’t have this level of insubordination from the help, I hope you understand,” he continues gravely. He slaps Tommy again, hard, because he knows he isn’t expecting it. It’s delightful how his cheeks clench. “Here I am, right –” another slap – “just trying to enjoy a peaceful evening in my own home –” another – “and my maid decides to be a little  _ slut  _ and get herself off all over my clean floor. I ought to make you lick it up.” 

Tommy actually shudders at that, his shame and rekindling arousal palpable. It makes Alfie pause to smooth his palms soothingly over the pert, already pinkening flesh. He’s nothing if not affectionate. 

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen, sweet thing.” He might be pushing his luck, but the realization has dawned on him that Tommy, no matter what is asked of him, will not break his word. “I am going to spank your pretty arse fifty times. No more, no less. And each time –”

“I suppose you want me to count?” 

Tommy’s snide remark catches Alfie off-guard, but stokes his fire even more. So _ that’s _ how Tommy wants to play it, eh? The brave little gangster. 

He delivers several hard slaps in rapid succession, and Tommy actually grunts in surprise, leaning forward on his arms to support himself. “No. I do NOT want you to count,” Alfie practically snarls, over the sound of flesh hitting flesh. “After each blow, you are to say,  _ I’m very sorry, sir, _ and you are NOT to speak out of turn again.” He knots his fingers in Tommy’s hair and yanks, bowing his spine and making his pretty eyes shine with moisture. “Understand?” 

Tommy nods, before apparently catching himself. “Sir,” he adds hastily. “Yes, sir.”

Alfie smiles, releasing Tommy back to all fours. “Now, that’s what I like to hear.” 

  
  


* * *

It goes on for what feels like forever. Being forced to say “I’m very sorry, sir,” between each blow really slows things down, but does not dull the pain. Alfie is precise and relentless, and each crack of his palm feels harder than the last. Every so often, he pauses what he’s doing to rub Tommy’s stinging flesh and remark on how red and hot it’s becoming. 

Tommy’s getting hard again already. It makes him angry, because he really doesn’t like Alfie very much right now, and he doesn’t want to dignify this treatment with his arousal. And yet, he finds himself rocking in time with the blows, rocking into them. 

“I’m very sorry, sir.” The words were at first gritted out, but slowly became murmured, then gasped. Now, Tommy’s trying very hard not to moan. Alfie doesn’t need that kind of encouragement. 

He tries to take some consolation in the fact that Alfie’s own composure is fracturing. His breathing is becoming labored with arousal, and every so often, he stops to rub his clothed erection against Tommy’s poor arse – but the chaffing of fabric against his abused flesh makes him wince, as does the knowledge that Alfie’s still clothed and relatively dignified while Tommy’s been reduced to this.

Towards the end, Alfie is clearly impatient, because he speeds up his strikes, seemingly egged on by the hurt, aroused noises Tommy can’t keep down, his head hanging between his arms and his erection throbbing. 

“I’m very sorry, sir.” He can barely gasp it out, syllables slurring, barely intelligible. “I’m very sorry, sir.”   
  


Finally, Alfie is evidently finished – Tommy hasn’t been able to keep count – because the blows stop and he hears swearing and a tingling belt buckle from behind him. Tommy’s a little concerned. Alfie’s planning to fuck him know? Without any prep? Tommy gives him a concerned look over his shoulder, not daring to speak up about it. 

“Don’t worry, my little slag,” Alfie chuckles, low and breathless, “wouldn’t want to damage my property too much.”

Before Tommy can question what that means, Alfie’s hot erection is pressed between his arse cheeks. Big hands grasp each one, nails digging painfully into the raw skin, squeezing them together.

Alfie begins to rut against him, never entering. Tommy’s face burns at the realization that he’s being used. Like a toy. His cock twitches painfully, and he yearns to stroke it, but he doesn’t dare. The last thing he needs is another punishment session.

“Your arse is so fucking hot, Tommy,” Alfie grunts, squeezing. “Hot, and red. What a picture.” 

Tommy groans. He never thought he’d let anyone use him like this, speak to him like this. And he certainly never thought he’d love it.

He can hear the telltale noises Alfie makes when he’s getting close, so he’s caught off-guard when Alfie pulls away. Fingers knot in Tommy’s hair, and he finds himself being forced along on all fours over to the couch. 

Alfie sits down in front of him, Tommy still dazed and kneeling. “Let’s find a good use for that pretty face.” Hand still knotted in Tommy’s hair, he drags him towards his erection. 

Tommy opens his mouth, thinking this will be a blowjob, and very surprised when Alfie starts jerking himself instead. Within seconds, hot cum coats Tommy’s face, catching in his lashes. Some of it lands on his tongue. It’s so sudden, he gasps.

He looks up at Alfie, startled, and finds himself waiting for an explanation. But the bastard just smiles down at him, smug and infuriating. “Lovely makeup, my darling. Perfect for a dirty little slag.” 

Tommy gapes at him, too shocked to be furious. He never thought he’d let anyone treat him like this. And he certainly never thought he’d love it like he does.

And then he met Alfie.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snuck in some more smut, before a generous dollop of fluff. Thank you so much to everyone for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!

Tommy was sure that would be the last of his torment, so he nearly cried when Alfie instructed him to warm his now-flaccid cock while he finished his chapter. “C’mon, petal, no need for that,” said Alfie, thumbing away a frustrated tear that threatened to spill from Tommy’s eye. “You should see the view from up here. I _ wish _ you could see it, lovely thing.” 

The moisture in his eyes made the semen in his eyelashes sting, reminding him of its presence. Alfie hasn’t given him permission to wipe it off, so he doesn’t dare.

His cock remains hard, neglected, and this latest, humiliating position isn’t doing anything to help diminish it. After a few minutes, he subtly leans forward, to let Alfie feel it against his ankle. Perhaps he forgot.

But the bastard just toes Tommy’s erection without looking up from his book. “Mmm, someone’s needy, eh love?”

The bastard. The fucking, fucking bastard. Tommy wants to bite him. But he doesn’t.

He just kneels there, till Alfie’s dick begins chubbing up in his mouth. When this happens, he’s hefted roughly till he’s straddling Alfie’s lap, kissed roughly as Alfie slicks up two fingers. He tries to rut against Alfie, desperate for release, and is slapped across the cheek for his efforts. 

“All in good time, my little whore,” says Alfie affectionately, nuzzling his neck. Large hands spread Tommy’s cheeks and begin working him open. 

Tommy lowers his gaze, embarrassed – at his position, at what he’s wearing, the fact that he’s facing Alfie and Alfie can see the cum still on his face – but is reprimanded for it. “Want to see those beautiful eyes when I fuck you, darling.”

And fuck him, Alfie does. He can only hold onto Alfie’s shoulders as his hips are guided up and down, gazing helplessly into Alfie’s lust-dark eyes. When he feels a hand begin to stroke him, his entire body shudders violently. A sound escapes his throat, so high he can’t believe it came from him.

“What do we say when we want to come, my darling?” Alfie growls, his free hand squeezing Tommy’s arse possessively. 

“Please,” Tommy gasps out. 

Alfie speeds up his thrusts, stroking in time, and the waves of pleasure make Tommy shake. He comes so hard he nearly passes out, and Alfie is close behind.

* * *

Tommy is curled on the couch, vaguely aware of the running bath and the fragrant smell of oil. He's cold and sticky and he can’t stop shivering, but he’s so very tired. He feels like Alfie fucked the life right out of him. 

He’s just drifting when he feels thick fingers stroking his hair. “Got a bath for you, sweetie.” 

Tommy frowns and rolls over. “Go away. I’m sleeping.”

“Not like this you’re not.” A pause. “C’mon, mate, I had two orgasms, and you don’t see me acting this way.”

“I had two orgasms as well, Alfie.” 

“See? Exactly the same number!”

Tommy opens one eye to glare up at him. “But you didn’t get spanked, or fucked up the arse.”

“No, but I did the spanking and the fucking, didn’t I? If anyone should be tired, it’s me.”

“You didn’t have to clean some bastard's floor with a toothbr-” Tommy trails off with a high pitched noise as he’s hefted unceremoniously from the couch, clinging to Alfie’s shoulders. “ _ Alfie! _ ”

“Relax, love, not gonna drop you. You’re a tiny thing, anyway, easy to lift.” And then comes the inevitable, “You really need to eat more, Tom. Don’t want you blowing away in the wind, now, do we?”

Tommy sighs, but lets himself be carried to the bathroom. He likes being carried, though he’d never admit it. No one except Alfie would dare.

He lets Alfie tug off that humiliating uniform once and for all – muttering something disconcerting about “bringing it back another day” – and guides Tommy to sit nested in his lap in the tub. He rambles as he carefully cleans Tommy’s face with a washcloth, and to Tommy, it’s as calming as a lullaby.

“You were so beautiful tonight. Lovely thing, like a full moon, or a fuckin’ sunset, or a field of, I don’t know. Begonias or something. You seemed to be enjoying yourself, too, mm?”

“Fuck off,” Tommy mutters, on the edge of teetering off into sleep. The world feels so warm. 

“That’s a yes, then. Bet you don’t regret making that bet, do you, lovely thing.” 

Tommy scowls. “You’re a fucking smug bastard. 

Alfie drops a kiss to the top of his head. “And you fucking came twice.”

Afterwards, they lie beneath the cool sheets together and listen to some Jewish talk radio station that always puts Tommy to sleep within minutes. 

And he can concede, to himself if not to Alfie: he doesn’t regret placing the bet, and he doesn’t regret losing it. Not even a little bit.


End file.
